The Pavement Shines Like Silver
by Hermione Weasley
Summary: Tara used to live in the highest society, now she is the lowest of the low. She seems fine with her situation in life before a man tries to kill her. Of course our favorite detective is involved...
1. Tara arrives at Baker Street

A/N Hello again. I am writing another story. (evil laugh) I am doing this because I like Sherlock Holmes and I think he definitely needs to get laa girlfriend. I am a hopeless romantic and can make up a Romance for almost any character in a book. I am doing this because there haven't been many non-slash romances in the Holmes area, I thought I should offer this bit ofwhatever to get the ball going.

P.S. this is going to be major fluff, at the most flangst (although not a lot), no angst. I intend to do something happy for a change. Just so everyone knows this is purely for my own enjoyment, if y'all like it well thencool.

P. P. S. Reviewers will be given special thanx in A/N, constructive criticism will be noted and 'fixed' if I think what you are telling me needs to happen should happen. I reserve the write not to listen to a word you say. Flamers will be laughed at and mocked, because I am not in a mood to be nice to stupid people. The flames shall turn and I shall use them for their own undoing (evil laugh again)

So onto what could possibly be the crappiest story I have ever written. Or maybe hell will freeze over and this will be a masterpiecewhatever.

Tara had been on the streets since she was ten years old. She was used to it. She could steal better than many boys her own age. Of course, she had not always been in this lowly state, before she had been quite rich. She could read and write in English, Latin, Greek and a bit of Russian. Then the fire took place and it all went down in smoke. Literally. Tara was left with nothing. So she had quickly adapted herself to street life, doing off-hand jobs here and there.

This month she had decided to take a stop at Baker street. Why? Because she hadn't been there, of course. 

She thought she would blend with the rest of the rag-tag of Baker street, and she did, except to one.

Sherlock Holmes knew almost every person on Baker Street and their history, so when a seventeen-year old beggar comes into his territory, he noticed.

He eyed this girl from his current position outside the bakery. She was wearing what could be called a dress if the definition was stretched very far. On top of those rags she wore a mans old coat, about three sizes too big for her. She was a small girl only about five three or so. Her bare, frost-bitten feet looked almost like those of a skeleton. Her face had a high fore head, an alabaster white like the rest of her skin. Her auburn hair whirled around her face, completely loose. Her eyes were green, so startlingly green that Holmes could see them even from his current position.

Yet even with her rather ragged appearance, she would be what other men would call beautiful. A thought crossed his mind. A prostitute perhaps? Holmes glanced away and blushed at the thought. He tried to rid his mind of such thoughts, so he returned to his biscuit. 

He hated when Mrs. Hudson was away. He always had to go out for his breakfast, a task he did not enjoy in the least, especially in the winter days like today.

"Damn weather" he murmured, before returning to his room.

~

Tara's eyes turned to his window; he was standing there smoking his pipe, gazing out across the street. Tara wondered who he was. She had never seen anyone like him. He was tall and lean, with a slender strength, not possessed by many. His hair was slicked back in a manner that showed off his high for head and long hawk-like nose. She smirked at the thought. She had a thing for men with big noses. She hated those with button noses, or even worse, squashed, round noses. She didn't know why but she couldn't stand them.

She glanced over to the bakery. It was closed now. _Damn_, she thought bitterly. Her stomach growled. She sat down at the edge of the building bringing her knees up to her chest. She was so cold; it was like her limbs had turned to blocks of ice, numb and heavy. 

A man walked by in a heavy black coat, his sharp gray eyes running up and down her body. Running a hand through his hand he said, "How much d'ya want?"

A deep hate boiled inside her. Never, never, in her time on the street had she resorted to _that_. She narrowed her eyes and glared up at the man, "Five hundred pounds you self-righteous bastard."

A smirk appeared on his lips. "Always a one for high-prices. You're a Joansworth through and through."

Tara's eyes widened and she started to back away from the man looming over her.

"You didn't really think you could hide forever?" he said, his eyes glowing with an insane fire, full of hatred.

He kicked her in the stomach causing her head to bang into the brick wall. Slightly dazed, and in immense pain she could neither scream nor move. 

He picked her up by the neck and whispered in her ear. "I meant to kill you along with your parents, bitch. Believe me, I won't make the same mistake again."

Just as he took out the knife to stab her, Tara regained what little strength she had and screamed while kicking him out of the way. He still managed to cut a long gash in her side, causing blood to run all over her clothes. 

He ran off swearing while Tara lay there in a pool of her own blood, the world going hazy.

She heard a man's steps hurrying towards her.

It was him.

He turned her over and stared into her face, "Miss?"

She nodded, her eyes rolling. His eyes scanned her body, assessing her wounds.

"I'm going to get you helphold on." He said in what was an obvious attempt at a soothing voice.

She gasped, choking for air, before the whole world went black

A/N Not as crappy as I thought it was. I am very proud of myself. So tell me what you think.

Short I know, I'm sorry. Can't be helped so deal.


	2. Awakening

A/N @ bottom.

An aching, stinging pain tore at Tara's side, and her breath was ragged, struggling. It took her a while to remember what had happened to put her in such pain. Him.

__

Oh, God

She murmured. She tried not to think about that, but concentrated on her surroundings. Now she was in deep shit. She was lying in a bed that wasn't hers, in a room she'd never seen. She started to panic her gaze darting frantically around the room. Her head began to spin and the world was getting fuzzy again. Tara tried to relax closing her eyes and taking deep calming breaths.

A man opened the door, carrying a tray with food and some medical supplies on it. He had light brown mustache, flecked with some gray. He smiled seeing that she was awake.

Laying the tray down next to her table he said, "And how are you feeling miss?"

She whispered, "Been better. Where am I? Who are you?" 

"You are currently occupying the bed of my friend Mr. Sherlock Holmes and I," he handed her a cup of tea, "Am Dr. Watson."

Drinking the tea slowly as to let it engulf her, she tried to remember the last time she had had tea. She couldn't.

Setting it down she muttered, "Thank you, but why am I here? You do not know me. That came out wrong. I'm thankful for you helping me, but you do not know me. There that's better."

He smiled, handing her a spoon with some amber liquid to drink. She did, pulling a face. Watson smirked.

"I don't think the medicine really does anything, it's all a conspiracy that the doctors make up so they can watch us in our misery." She said a little too dramatically, for it caused her to grimace, clutching her side.

He smiled again. _A nice smile,_ Tara thought, _cheerful, friendly, mustache going up at the ends everything a proper smile should be_

She laughed quietly at her own thoughts. She did not notice that he had spoken to her. "Miss?" he repeated more loudly.

"What?" she said, her head jerking out towards him.

"I asked, what is your name?" he said patiently.

"Oh sorry," she said, "Tara. Just Tara."

"Well just Tara, how is your side?" he said.

"Hurts."

"Well that was a bit obvious. May I ask to examine it, to make sure there are no infections?" he said, some pink rising to his cheek, but it was obvious he was a gentleman.

"Sure." She said.

He pulled up the top half of her "dress" so that her stomach was exposed. He glanced over it muttering the unforgettable "h'mmm". 

She looked down and was shocked. It was a long gash, the blood all cleaned up and the wound stitched together, but still rather nasty. "Ekh" she said.

"It's actually quite nice. You must be a quick healer for it to look this good in just three days."

"THREE DAYS?!" she almost yelled.

"Yes I think you went into shock, you were only half-conscious at the most, muttering something like, "He knowsnot safe" or something." He said, putting her shirt down and replacing all his tools back onto the tray.

Tara tried to remain, calm, ignoring his last comment. "So where is this Mr. Holmes?"

"He's reading on his new "bed" otherwise known as the couch." Said Watson, picking up the tray and carrying it out of the room.

"What?" she said in horror. "He gave up his bed for _me? Why?_ Oh God, I'm so sorry. I'm just getting in his way. Oh, Shit!"

This last part was uttered so loud that not only did Watson turn his head in shock that a lady had such a mouth but a voice from the other room said, "My dear girl, I am perfectly fine on my couch, as it is usually my bed anyway. I find that a bedroom is just a waste of time, money and space when one can sleep on the couch and wake up right were one left off."

Watson left the room with the tray and revealed the speaker. It was that man, the one who had saved her. The tall man that she had watched. Sherlock Holmes.

"Hello sir.." she muttered, embarrassed for a great many reasons.

"Good morning, Miss Tara. I'm glad you are recovering." He said in a tone that if you didn't listen properly would have sounded uncaring.

"Thank you sir, for everything." She pushed her self up on the pillows, grimacing in pain.

"No need to thank me, but if you do make it by giving me information." He said, putting his hands together and resting his chin on them.

"I shall try sir." She said nervously.

"Miss Tara, I would like to know why you have come to Baker Street as I have not seen you her before."

"I travel from place to place. I haven't been here before, that is all, it was just chance."

He nodded, closing his eyes as if absorbing the information. "Tell me about what happened before and during the attack."

"Well I was sitting at the corner minding my own business when this man comes up to me. He asks me how much I wanted, self-righteous bastard, as if would ever do something like _that_. I told him five hundred pounds, hoping he'd leave me alone. Then he said, "Always one for high prices. You're a J-" Tara immediately shut up, casting her eyes down.

"You're a what?" he said, opening his eyes and staring into her own.

"NothingI mixed it upI'm still a little tired" she said.

"Please continue." Said Holmes in a voice that made it very obvious he knew she was lying.

"Well, I don't remember much after that except that he shoved me against the wall and threatened to kill me. I kicked him out of the way and screamed. I guess he got me anyway, but at least not in my heart. Then you came and now I'm here."

"And what were you doing before you were on the streets?" said Mr. Holmes.

"I don't know what you mean" muttered a frightened Tara.

"I think you do. It isn't everyday you come across a beggar who can read." He said, giving her an icy glare.

Tara blushed, "You must have seen me reading the books on the shelf."

"Indeed." Said Holmes.

Watson entered the room again and rolled his eyes, "Holmes, the girl has just woken up and you're already interrogating her?"

"Forgive me, Tara, you need your rest." And with that he left.

~

Holmes sat on the couching thinking. This Tara was a strange girl. She hadn't always been on the streets. In fact Holmes was almost sure that she had been of at least a moderately wealthy family. But how had she ended up here? That was the question. Holmes pinched his nose and closed his eyes. There were other things this girl was hiding as well. Her words echoed in his head, "He said, "Always one for high prices, you're a J-" A J-what? Holmes needed a walk, he had been inside too long

~

Over the next few weeks Tara healed quickly. She could soon get up and out of bed, although Watson advised against it. Another improvement for our friend was a navy-blue cotton dress. It fit almost perfectly, a little too big, but that was not a problem. When Watson had given it too her she had thanked him for near and hour as he mumbled, "My wife made it, she had the extra cloth. It's nothing big"

And even though she was now mobile and in some ways better shape than before, Holmes and Watson insisted on making her stay.

Tara couldn't stand being in the way of someone so after all this charity she couldn't help but feel the need to help them in some way and on a particular Monday she had the perfect opportunity.

A/N See preciouss is a good author she does what she promises and talks to the nice reviewers.

Anneliese: Hey, glad you like it, see it is the nice people like you that encourage me to keep writing. (pointing to said reviewer) SEE BE LIKE THIS PEOPLE!!!!! Right. So I will try and live up to your now high expectations, no promises as I will probably screw it up.

Adiva Calandia: Hehehebackground, what background? JK I have most of her background down, but some will just have to fit in with the story, see I don't know how this is gonna go either

OH yah, I'm off to read your story right now

Snowwolf: Hey you sound almost as crazy as me! (emphasis on ALMOST) Brought you a chappie, enjoy!

No1. Thank you, you are another one of those ideal reviewers who encourage me to continue. I'm glad you are glad that I'm not doing slash. I'm sorry, I'm not a slash person. I'm just not. A) they tend to be WAY too graphic. And B) sometimes people do it for the sake of doing it, ruining a very good plot line.

Moonrose: Yes you are an annoying reviewer, but I'm an annoying author so HEY! I just want you to know that you have jinxed it and I'm probably going to screw up now

Cecilia Carlton: Oops. Yah I know, my spelling stinks I can't get in touch w/ my beta cause of AOL. And sorry about that OOC bit. I will try to be better, but sometimes it will go out of character so

Queen Hotaru: Cool that u use Tara as well. Glad you like it.

AngelBloom: Sorry I know its short, bad preciousss

A.Spencer: Thanx, I didn't realize that one, it was just a mistake. I know my bad, but my peoples are going to be a bit OOC sometimes Also I am writing this really fast, mostly for my own enjoyment so I don't realize these things, so sorry.

Ok. SO y'all know I'm in school still and that comes first. I will write when I can, but when I can't you have to be patient. (I'm such a hypocrite, I ALWAYS bug people to write faster)

Long A/N

Short Chappie

Sorry.


	3. The Clash of the Dust Bunnies

A/N: Boomchickaboomchickaboombambam! She's back! I hope this lives up to your expectations. I won't reply to each individual review, but surprisingly a lot has been positive so I'd like to say thank you.  
  
Oh and I don't know whether or not I've stated it before but Holmes is quite a bit younger than when we meet him in the books. He's in his thirties? forties? in the book, whereas in this fic he is mid twenties. Tara is like 15-18. I know I'm slaughtering the canon, sue me.  
  
Oh, and btw, this is NOT A MARY SUE. This will NEVER BE a Mary Sue. I have no wish to be Tara and she has no wish to be me. This is simply for lack of non-slash Holmes romance. If I wanted to fantasize about the great detective, I'd keep it in my OWN head thank you very much.  
  
~  
  
Holmes had left for the day; he and Watson had been invited by one of their wealthier friends to see an opera. Watson had, of course, been the gentleman, "Are you sure you would not like to go? I daresay I could persuade the chap into buying you a ticket, or you could have mine?"  
  
Tara had laughed at him, but quickly stopped herself for fear that she had offended him. "I do not wish to go anymore this time than the first six or seven times you've asked me," she said, smiling genuinely at the amiable man, "I appreciate your offer, but I would probably have no taste for such things as Opera. You enjoy yourselves, I'd much rather relax here than jostle myself around in a carriage and then sit straight for about three hours."  
  
Watson had, in the end, complied and left, dragging Holmes behind him, whose nose was stuck in the newspaper.  
  
Tara surveyed the apartment with mingled amusement and disgust. Despite living on the street for a great deal of her life she could still remember a time and place with pressed gowns neat beds and perfectly arranged furniture. The apartment Sherlock Holmes did remotely link with her fond memories of neatness and organization. Papers were covering nearly every inch of floor so the dusty wood underneath them was hardly seen. She took to gathering them into their complete paper and then to organizing them by date. Her odyssey of cleaning led her from the papers to the other areas of messiness about the room. With broom in hand she turned to face the room.  
  
~  
  
Returning from the Opera Holmes felt somewhat bored. It had been satisfactory, but nothing extraordinary. The singers were not overly gifted and the orchestra fumbled over some of the more difficult bits. After a while his attention had drifted and he had resorted to his favorite pastime: People Watching.  
His mind had wandered over the crowed spending little more than a moment with each person. This particular group of upper middle-class was boring beyond belief. It was as if not one of them had ever left London, let alone England. Their marriages might be void of love, but not adulterous. The women all fell into the stereotype of their sex and station: self-absorbed, fake and not a single writer in the group.  
  
As Sherlock walked up the stairs to his apartment he almost wished he had forced Tara to take his ticket while he stayed at home, reading. There were some books on Russian history he had not been able to go through thoroughly; and there were those medicinal books Watson had leant him.... Holmes was still brooding on how he could have better spent the evening when he opened the door and saw one of the most horrific sights he had ever laid eyes on.  
  
The room was clean, immaculate, not one object out of place. It was disgusting, horrible, outrageous! How... what ... when ... who? But of course, Sherlock already knew the answer.  
  
"Tara!" he shouted, forgetting the "Miss" or anything else that was remotely connected with manners. She had touched his room, his home. She had ... that girl ... she had ... molested his possessions!  
  
There was going to be hell to pay.  
  
~  
  
The row that had followed that one had been epic. He shouted and ranted at her like a mad man. While this would have terrorized Mrs. Hudson, Tara was not as easily broken. She returned his ranting full force, letting loose a string of curse words and other street words that Holmes had learned from the irregulars when they forgot he was present. Holmes had threatened throwing her out into the street where she belonged until Watson intervened.  
  
"She was only trying to help; your house is a mess and you know it! You can't simply throw her into the street she has not fully recovered. Besides your information is far easier to get at now, much easier to find," said Watson, trying to calm and persuade Holmes.  
  
He did not have the desired results, "Mess! Ha! It was an organized mess! I knew where everything was and how to get to it. How can it possibly be more accessible when the volumes I will most likely be needing are piled under dozens of others?"  
  
It continued in this fashion until Sherlock gave in and said he would bear the unnatural tidiness, but if he took out something, he would put it where he pleased.  
  
Tara had agreed somewhat half-heartedly to this idea, grumbling about it being his house, how he was an obnoxious over-reacting man who smoked too much.  
  
Watson merely rolled his eyes at the pair of them.  
  
A/N: Hey, I hope you like it, sorry I couldn't write more but its really late and I wanted to give you nice people something. I'm actually going to get back on track with this one, promise. Please comment on anything you think could be improved. 


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